Shawn sat fiercely upright, panting and drenched in sweat. He stayed still a moment, for the dream still seemed to hang in the air around him.
Rolling off his bed, he slumped into the bathroom in his plaid boxers, and splashed water on his face. Looking up, he saw the usual white slate with dark circles and brown stubble, staring back at him in the mirror. Never in his life could he recall a day looking as bad as he felt. He grumbled reaching into the shower and turning the hot water, letting steam fill the room. Stepping in though the curtain, the scalding heat had little effect on his bare flesh, which instantly turned a rosy pink. For a few minutes he stood there, letting the sharp beads of water smack against his face full force, and as his thoughts raced, a few salty tears escaped his eyes. After he had washed his greasy brown mane, the water turned icy cold. Shawn growled and banged on the wall, cursing whoever had just flushed the toilet next door.
Turning the faucets off he stepped out muttering, "Damn plumbing system..." He wrapped a towel around his waist and combed his wet hair back. It was early, but too late to go back to sleep, he'd have to go to work soon anyways. He pulled back his window curtain slightly to watch the sun rising over the interstate just hardly 20 feet from his hotel room. Sighing, he went and threw his usual clothes on. Old, torn, faded but faithful blue jeans, and his favorite black shirt. It laid next to a neatly folded blue button up shirt. Shawn ran his hand across the soft material that was once Cory's. His favorite article of clothing that he gave to Shawn to remember him by; when he told Cory he was going away. Shawn picked up the shirt and buried his face in it. The faint aroma of Cory's home still lay deep in its threads. He'd always considered Cory's home as his, or used to. Wistfully he placed the shirt neatly back into the drawer.
His Mr. Coffee machine produced his daily morning caffeine pick up. Gulping down the hot liquid he wandered back over to the window and continued watching outside, pondering the dream he'd had as he had done so many mornings before.
Suddenly a fat ugly man with greasy black hair blocked his view, banging on the window to snap Shawn out of his daydream. Groaning he reached over to twist the knob and pulled the door open. "Good morning Mr. Drowdsberry" Shawn said unenthusiastically.
"Watch that tone Mr. Hunter" he sneered. He paused then added, "shouldn't you already be working on the rooms?"
"But Mr. D I still got half an hour"
"Let me rephrase that. Shouldn't you be already working on the rooms if you want to get paid this week?"
Shawn sighed, "Yes sir"
"Good then, start on room 7. People keep complaining about the smell in there." He said, and walked out of the room.
"I can't believe it could be worse than the stench that's already in every friggin' room" he mumbled. "I heard that" Mr. D said from his office next door, "now get to work!"
Shawn rolled his eyes and picked up his cleaning bucket on the floor next to the door. It was an ugly shade of brown and held a can of bathroom cleaner, a sponge, gloves, air freshener, and a dust rag. As it banged against his thigh, he sauntered up to the door marked 7. He jiggled the key into the lock and shoved the door open. A burst of a foul smelling odor rushed into his nostrils, so fierce he gagged slightly. No one had been in this room in two weeks to turn on the air conditioner and the heat seemed to make the smell more pungent.
Shawn sickeningly recognized this smell and remembered what happened the last time he had smelt it. He crept over to the bed, and the smell intensified.
"Oh god, not again." He groaned. Convincing himself that the quicker he did it the better, he pulled the mattress off the bed.
Sure enough, lying in the bed frame was a woman with bleached hair, in lingerie, with her throat slashed open viciously. Her lifeless blue eyes remained frozen as in shock, and her beautiful body was already starting to decay. Shawn stumbled back completely nauseated. He bolted out the door and vomited any substance he had left in his stomach, on the sidewalk. Mr. Drowdsberry came running out of his office yelling, "what the hell is wrong with you boy?!"
Shawn stood up shakily and shouted, "that's the third one this year Tom!" pointing into the room.
Tom Drowdsberry's face flushed to milk white, and he slowly looked into the room from the doorway. He sighed and ran his grubby fingers through his hair as he always did when he was stressed.
"Alright..." he said turning to Shawn, "I'll start on the hole in the back...." He then pointed into the room, "you work your magic and do a disappearing act on this room."
"Why can't we just call the cops this time" Shawn pleaded.
"No" he snapped, "You know that will hurt my business even worse. Plus with this place on the brink of being shut down....do you want to be back out on the streets?"
"No but..."
"But nothing! Now get to work we don't got all day! Just wrap her up in the sheets and leave her in the laundry hamper." He said purple faced, pointing to the big yellow cart with wheels, "I'll pick her up in a bit while you finish the room."
The man began to walk away. Shawn paused, tears of hatred welling up in his eyes. This was no way to live. Working for barely anything for this creep, while being stuck in this run down place. Cleaning room after room, and the occasional dead prostitutes. He clenched his fists and glaring at Mr. said a loud and simple "No"
He turned around slightly shocked, "what did you say?" Shawn walked forward, getting in his face, and said, "I'm not putting up with this anymore, we're calling the cops."
"Oh no we're not" Tom bellowed.
"I'm not going to clean it up!" Shawn shouted back
"Son you got no where else to go" he sneered, "so I suggest you get in that room now and start cleaning!"
"You're wrong. I do have somewhere else to go" Shawn said through barred teeth, and shoved past him towards his room. Kicking the door open, he started grabbing what little possessions he had and shoving it into a gray duffle bag.
Mr. Drowdsberry burst into the room minutes later "you're lying. You got no where else to go. No one wants you. You're scum like me, we got to stick together"
"That's where you're also wrong" Shawn said fiercely "I do have a place to go and people there that want me. I'm not scum like you and I don't know why I didn't leave this hell hole sooner"
He'd finished packing and threw the bag over his shoulder. Tom pulled out a small hand gun from behind his back. "I'm not letting you leave" he said precariously. Shawn stepped back slightly, but then boldly said "you wouldn't dare. You hide murders. You don't commit them." "Take one step further and I'll prove you wrong" he said trying to sound serious but his voice quaked. Shawn took a baby step. The mad man fired, but luckily he had horrible aim. Shawn leapt for the gun and wrenched it out of his hand, then used the end off it to swiftly strike him on the head. Mr.Drowdsberry fell to the floor unconscious.
Shawn looked around the room making sure he had gathered it all. His eye caught the Mr. Coffee machine and quickly stepping over Tom's body, he snatched it up as well. With a last glance he said goodbye to the place he'd wasted almost three years of his life in, and shut the door behind him.
Quickly he ran out to the side of the interstate and stuck out his thumb, hoping someone would pick him up before the cops arrived at the motel to investigate the gunfire. Within minutes an old man in a beat up station wagon with a kind face pulled up next to him. His smiling blue eyes sparkled as he rolled down the window and asked "where ya headed to son?" "Philadelphia" Shawn replied slightly nervous.
"Well hop in then" he said unlocking the door for him. Shawn jumped in, throwing his gray bag in the back seat. He smiled as they pulled away from the side and back onto the road. He was on his way home.
Rolling off his bed, he slumped into the bathroom in his plaid boxers, and splashed water on his face. Looking up, he saw the usual white slate with dark circles and brown stubble, staring back at him in the mirror. Never in his life could he recall a day looking as bad as he felt. He grumbled reaching into the shower and turning the hot water, letting steam fill the room. Stepping in though the curtain, the scalding heat had little effect on his bare flesh, which instantly turned a rosy pink. For a few minutes he stood there, letting the sharp beads of water smack against his face full force, and as his thoughts raced, a few salty tears escaped his eyes. After he had washed his greasy brown mane, the water turned icy cold. Shawn growled and banged on the wall, cursing whoever had just flushed the toilet next door.
Turning the faucets off he stepped out muttering, "Damn plumbing system..." He wrapped a towel around his waist and combed his wet hair back. It was early, but too late to go back to sleep, he'd have to go to work soon anyways. He pulled back his window curtain slightly to watch the sun rising over the interstate just hardly 20 feet from his hotel room. Sighing, he went and threw his usual clothes on. Old, torn, faded but faithful blue jeans, and his favorite black shirt. It laid next to a neatly folded blue button up shirt. Shawn ran his hand across the soft material that was once Cory's. His favorite article of clothing that he gave to Shawn to remember him by; when he told Cory he was going away. Shawn picked up the shirt and buried his face in it. The faint aroma of Cory's home still lay deep in its threads. He'd always considered Cory's home as his, or used to. Wistfully he placed the shirt neatly back into the drawer.
His Mr. Coffee machine produced his daily morning caffeine pick up. Gulping down the hot liquid he wandered back over to the window and continued watching outside, pondering the dream he'd had as he had done so many mornings before.
Suddenly a fat ugly man with greasy black hair blocked his view, banging on the window to snap Shawn out of his daydream. Groaning he reached over to twist the knob and pulled the door open. "Good morning Mr. Drowdsberry" Shawn said unenthusiastically.
"Watch that tone Mr. Hunter" he sneered. He paused then added, "shouldn't you already be working on the rooms?"
"But Mr. D I still got half an hour"
"Let me rephrase that. Shouldn't you be already working on the rooms if you want to get paid this week?"
Shawn sighed, "Yes sir"
"Good then, start on room 7. People keep complaining about the smell in there." He said, and walked out of the room.
"I can't believe it could be worse than the stench that's already in every friggin' room" he mumbled. "I heard that" Mr. D said from his office next door, "now get to work!"
Shawn rolled his eyes and picked up his cleaning bucket on the floor next to the door. It was an ugly shade of brown and held a can of bathroom cleaner, a sponge, gloves, air freshener, and a dust rag. As it banged against his thigh, he sauntered up to the door marked 7. He jiggled the key into the lock and shoved the door open. A burst of a foul smelling odor rushed into his nostrils, so fierce he gagged slightly. No one had been in this room in two weeks to turn on the air conditioner and the heat seemed to make the smell more pungent.
Shawn sickeningly recognized this smell and remembered what happened the last time he had smelt it. He crept over to the bed, and the smell intensified.
"Oh god, not again." He groaned. Convincing himself that the quicker he did it the better, he pulled the mattress off the bed.
Sure enough, lying in the bed frame was a woman with bleached hair, in lingerie, with her throat slashed open viciously. Her lifeless blue eyes remained frozen as in shock, and her beautiful body was already starting to decay. Shawn stumbled back completely nauseated. He bolted out the door and vomited any substance he had left in his stomach, on the sidewalk. Mr. Drowdsberry came running out of his office yelling, "what the hell is wrong with you boy?!"
Shawn stood up shakily and shouted, "that's the third one this year Tom!" pointing into the room.
Tom Drowdsberry's face flushed to milk white, and he slowly looked into the room from the doorway. He sighed and ran his grubby fingers through his hair as he always did when he was stressed.
"Alright..." he said turning to Shawn, "I'll start on the hole in the back...." He then pointed into the room, "you work your magic and do a disappearing act on this room."
"Why can't we just call the cops this time" Shawn pleaded.
"No" he snapped, "You know that will hurt my business even worse. Plus with this place on the brink of being shut down....do you want to be back out on the streets?"
"No but..."
"But nothing! Now get to work we don't got all day! Just wrap her up in the sheets and leave her in the laundry hamper." He said purple faced, pointing to the big yellow cart with wheels, "I'll pick her up in a bit while you finish the room."
The man began to walk away. Shawn paused, tears of hatred welling up in his eyes. This was no way to live. Working for barely anything for this creep, while being stuck in this run down place. Cleaning room after room, and the occasional dead prostitutes. He clenched his fists and glaring at Mr. said a loud and simple "No"
He turned around slightly shocked, "what did you say?" Shawn walked forward, getting in his face, and said, "I'm not putting up with this anymore, we're calling the cops."
"Oh no we're not" Tom bellowed.
"I'm not going to clean it up!" Shawn shouted back
"Son you got no where else to go" he sneered, "so I suggest you get in that room now and start cleaning!"
"You're wrong. I do have somewhere else to go" Shawn said through barred teeth, and shoved past him towards his room. Kicking the door open, he started grabbing what little possessions he had and shoving it into a gray duffle bag.
Mr. Drowdsberry burst into the room minutes later "you're lying. You got no where else to go. No one wants you. You're scum like me, we got to stick together"
"That's where you're also wrong" Shawn said fiercely "I do have a place to go and people there that want me. I'm not scum like you and I don't know why I didn't leave this hell hole sooner"
He'd finished packing and threw the bag over his shoulder. Tom pulled out a small hand gun from behind his back. "I'm not letting you leave" he said precariously. Shawn stepped back slightly, but then boldly said "you wouldn't dare. You hide murders. You don't commit them." "Take one step further and I'll prove you wrong" he said trying to sound serious but his voice quaked. Shawn took a baby step. The mad man fired, but luckily he had horrible aim. Shawn leapt for the gun and wrenched it out of his hand, then used the end off it to swiftly strike him on the head. Mr.Drowdsberry fell to the floor unconscious.
Shawn looked around the room making sure he had gathered it all. His eye caught the Mr. Coffee machine and quickly stepping over Tom's body, he snatched it up as well. With a last glance he said goodbye to the place he'd wasted almost three years of his life in, and shut the door behind him.
Quickly he ran out to the side of the interstate and stuck out his thumb, hoping someone would pick him up before the cops arrived at the motel to investigate the gunfire. Within minutes an old man in a beat up station wagon with a kind face pulled up next to him. His smiling blue eyes sparkled as he rolled down the window and asked "where ya headed to son?" "Philadelphia" Shawn replied slightly nervous.
"Well hop in then" he said unlocking the door for him. Shawn jumped in, throwing his gray bag in the back seat. He smiled as they pulled away from the side and back onto the road. He was on his way home.